Author Archives: KJ Ivany

Backward is the New Forward

Posted in Misguided Musings by

 

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I like being alone.  I crave time by myself.  Many of us introverted types usually do.  We don’t care if we have a houseful of people and we aren’t looking to be with a crowd.  We tend to want to be with ourselves.  We need time to think.  We need time to be…well, just be.  It’s not that I’m anti-social, I don’t think I’m anti-anything, it’s just I like being with me.  I have shit to think about.  Stuff to read.  Stuff to write.  Stuff to paint.  Just stuff to do that doesn’t include others.  I get in a crowd and it makes me uncomfortable.  I’m much better than I used to be, but still…it makes me edgy.  It’s better when I know everyone and they know me and aren’t expecting me to be witty, or engaging or a major conversationalist.  I suck at conversation.  I can be witty with a couple of glasses of wine and a good friend or two, but more than that and I shut down.  I get nervous.  I think they have more interesting things to say that I would like to listen to.  Not that I’m not intelligent enough to participate, on the contrary I can be a smart ass…just, I have to know that you can take it first.  I can talk about books and authors and movies and sentence structure and my dog and…other stuff.  You just have to show me that you’re interested in that stuff too.  We make you work for our time…you have to show us that you want to be in our company.  We don’t NEED somebody else to feel ‘complete’ or to feel like we matter.  We matter.  We know that.  We like our space.  Our time.

We introverts are around but we aren’t as noticeable as our extroverted counterparts.  We usually aren’t the life of the party.  We tend to watch the goings on.  Not that we don’t speak up, we just listen first.  We tend to be lurking in the shadows or watching from the sidelines.  We’re not ‘stuck up’ or think we are superior, we just wait until we feel we have something important to contribute.

I was always labelled ‘shy’…even ‘backward’.  I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.  Backward.  Like, I walk backwards?  I talk backwards?  I don’t think I think backwards.  I behave backwards?  Who the hell made this up?  Somebody backwards…

I think we are a misunderstood species.  I think people make many assumptions about our personalities before they have the opportunity to get to know us better, but then again, that happens with anyone who is perceived as different…or even ‘backward’.  It’s assumed we don’t like people or parties or any type of social gathering, so don’t get invited.  It’s assumed we are stuck up, or have a superiority complex.  We’re just quiet.  It’s assumed we are ignorant or even stupid.  We’re just waiting for an intelligent conversation and don’t want to bore you with semantics.  It’s assumed we have nothing to contribute, but we just are waiting for the opportunity.  We don’t do small talk.  It’s uninteresting to talk about the weather and who really wants to know if it’s raining out…again.  We take our time and want to get to know someone before jumping in to anything.  Our time is valuable and so is yours.

I’m saying ‘we’ because this isn’t just a ‘me’ thing.  Introverts are nothing new and I’m not alone.  It’s like a movement of sorts, now.  There’s Quietrev   a website that has a newsletter I receive regularly in my email that talks about being an introvert and how being ‘quiet’ doesn’t mean that you are any less important, less intelligent or less anything.  It discusses how to make gains in professional circles where networking is a key component and how to maneuver in a world that tends to dismiss the quiet few and reward the noisy majority.  ‘Squeaky wheel gets the oil?’ is that the saying?  We think that’s wrong.  We can be heard, just in our own way and time.

Blogging gives me my voice.  Writing gives me the opportunity to say what I’m thinking and people get to know me who otherwise may have had the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss me as uninterested or ‘stuck-up’, or that I simply have nothing to say.  No part of that is true.

Give us our space and time and we will give you our thoughts…just don’t expect us to yell over anyone to be heard.

Moving Forward Reluctantly

Posted in Misguided Musings, Pessimistic Parenting by

I was debating how to start this one, as it’s fraught with euphemisms and ‘life is like a box of chocolate’ kind of sayings.  It’s challenging and scary and moving forward is always hard.  Children become adults without even blinking and suddenly university is over and moving out is on the horizon.  And not just moving across town.  Moving across the country.  Moving to another province, another time zone, another way of life.  Ugh.  When did I give birth to adults?  This is a lot harder than they told me.  I don’t remember anybody saying that moving on would be harder on the parents than the adult-seeming children from whom I wiped snot from their runny noses and caught their vomit in buckets and chauffeured them to dance classes and guitar lessons and Tae Kwon Do sessions and even the occasional hockey-from-hell practices.  Christmas presents are no longer dolls or toys or games, but dishes for their new apartments, or new bedding for the new beds or gas cards to get them across the province.  We don’t eat supper together every night because one is running to work then class, another is running from class to work and the third one is preparing his four thousand word essay on the bombing of Hiroshima and can I possibly let him eat in his room tonight?  Gawd, where did these people come from?

The daughters will be finishing up university in the Spring which has brought discussions of Chapter 3 into the round table.  Everybody wants to be supportive, but with applications flying from one end of the country to the other, my nerves are starting to fray.   I’ve got one with ambitions of working in Intelligence and one nursing in a warmer climate.  I’ve got the other one applying for unis in Ontario and BC and then saying ‘well, you know I have to think about Medical school down the road.’  MEDICAL SCHOOL???!!!  WHO ARE YOU?!  WHERE’S MY LITTLE BOY WHO SPILLED CHEERIOS ON THE FLOOR AND REFUSED TO SPEAK UNTIL HE WAS THREE AND SANG ‘INAPPROPRIATE’ SONGS TO HIS GRADE ONE TEACHER?!!  * As a side, they weren’t really ‘inappropriate’, but when your kid goes to school singing “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” you get a call….

I had a long discussion with co-worker who has been through this with his son and he was very good at allaying my fears.  “She’ll be fine.  She’ll land on her feet.  It will work out.”    Okay, I’ll nod and trust you are right.

In the meantime, I’ll be around the house looking at old photos and lamenting the times the children were children and asking for friends to come over to play barbies and making snow forts in the backyard and NOT looking to get as far away from me as possible…

baby-kyle

A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Tattoo Studio…

Posted in Misguided Musings, Pessimistic Parenting by

Apparently, when you turn fifty something inexplicable happens to your brain.  Decisions are made based on what would be fun, or what could transform a little life into something exciting.  Looking down the tunnel towards old age, it gets necessary to move in a more forward thinking direction.  What have I not done in my life that I really should do?  Like, now.  Do now.   Take a plunge.  Leap. Dance.  Get a tattoo.

A tattoo?  Yes.   With Daughter.  She asked me and in an instant I said ‘yes’.  I didn’t even hesitate or flinch.  I just jumped in. No debating, no weighing the options, just jumped.  It’s only a little ink, right?

Let’s do it.  She was so excited.  I was too…until we walked into the tattoo studio for our consultation and then I realized it was actually happening. A permanent drawing on my body.  Ready?  Hmm….

Oh, sure there was a lot of checking with me to see if I was on board.  Was I sure?  Daughter and I looked over literally hundreds of designs.  What size?  Did we want colour?  How about the image itself?  There were many I nixed based on size.  There were more she declined based on simplicity. I was going for simple.  At my age, simple was imperative.  A few weeks later and we had our first appointment.

We made our way down to the studio.  A little red door on a downtown street.  Colourful art and sketches cover the wall of an old walk-up; aged wooden floorboards creaked beneath our feet; plaster ceilings and vintage crown moldings.  There was a park bench and an old tattoo chair adorning a tiny living room complete with sofa and coffee table. Directly across from the green micro-fibre sofa hung precariously from an old nail, a shrunken pirate head with ginger beard and eye patch.  Perfect.

We sat down with the artist in that room to go over our ideas for our tattoos.  She was a young woman, grey haired and sweet.  I saw no visible tattoos, however, just peeking out from under the hiked-up sleeve of her sweater I could see a black swirl like the wispy end of a tail.  Ah, there it is.

She asked questions.  Allayed our fears.  Calmed me down a bit.  We went through our ideas and she took the time to get to know exactly what we had in mind.

We chose daisies and asked the artist to do a sketch and send it to us just so we could imagine what it would look like permanently inked on our skin.

The day of the appointment arrived and Daughter picked me up.  She was so excited, how could I not be?  She went first.  Watching the tattoo artist was like watching somebody paint a picture while doing a bit of surgery at the same time.  There’s the whir of the instrument, the chatter of voices and the wincing of Daughter’s face.  She was so determined not to move, she made herself shake.  I asked Daughter what it felt like and she said it was like somebody scratching at your skin.  Nothing painful.  Huh.  That wincing face, though.

She was done in thirty minutes.  A quick change up for the room to be disinfected and cleaned up and it was my turn.  Ugh.  My brain started going into overdrive.  Was it too big, really?  Maybe she can scale it down to one daisy…then mine would be different than Daughter’s and that would defeat the purpose.  I was back in the room with the shrunken pirate head.  I think I heard him sneer at me, “Oh, whaddya ascared of a little tattoo?!  Pfft…sure if I had arms, I’d show ya all mine!  Dey were good’uns, they were.  All done by a sailor with a hook for a hand and a needle dipped in black ink.  Hehehe…good ol’ days, dey were.  A’course I may ‘ave been a wee bit over da limit wit da rum, if ya catch me drift….”  ‘Oh, my Gawd will ya shut it, pirate!  Can’t ya see I’m panicking here?!’    “Jasus, girl it’s only a bit o’ink.  Nuttin’ to git yer panties in a knot o’er.  An daisies at dat!  Pffft…wuss.  Well, if ye were on ma boat-“      ‘YOU DON’T HAVE A BODY LET ALONE A BOAT!   TOO BAD YOU STILL HAVE A MOUTH! KEEP TALKIN’ CAPTAIN JACK AND I’LL PITCH YOU OUT INTO THE HARBOUR! ’    “Take it easy, Missy!  Where’s me rum…”  ‘ NOW, you’re talkin’…..’

She came out to get me and we were off.

She attached the design to my lower leg first to make sure the placement was accurate and straight.  Then I hopped up on the table and she set to work.  I was on my side, so I was able to have a lovely view of the harbour while she worked.  I think she did that intentionally.  Smart girl.  Captain Jack was laughing it up out in the living room, I’m sure of it.   I asked her intelligent questions like “Has anyone passed out from this before?  Ever been accidently kicked or swatted while tattooing?  What’s the biggest tattoo you’ve ever done and how long did it take you?  Anybody ever vomit on your table?”

She answered my questions with a degree of concern making sure I wasn’t going to do any of those things to her.  Nope.  All good.  Except for that annoying scratching.  “That’s the tattoo.”  Oh.  Then I’m good.

It went well.  The tattoos look great.

I wonder what my next adventure will be…hmmm.

As for Captain Jack, I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other any time soon, although I thought I could hear a verse of  ‘Yo Ho Ho and A Bottle of Rum’ as we were walking out the door….

 

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Positively Positive

Posted in Misguided Musings by

I’m not graceful or light on my feet.  I’m not agile or athletic.  I’m not able to spin or balance elegantly.  I’m lucky I can walk a straight line.  Hell, I’m lucky to be upright, most days.  There is documented proof….unfortunately.    Moving in any direction is awkward to me.  One morning at bootcamp, one exercise involved walking like a duck carrying a kettle bell…that is, squat down as low as possible and walk.   I couldn’t do that. My knees were not cooperating and I don’t think I have enough strength in my quads to pull that shit off.  Oh, I tried, but failed miserably at it. Instead of a duck walk it was more like an old-lady-with-bad-knees-stumble.  (New exercise! ) That’s okay.  I crushed it at the split squats and the deadlift.

There are a lot of things I don’t do well.  There are also a lot of things I do well.  I’m also mediocre at some things and totally suck at others.  I can’t do everything well and I don’t tear myself up about it.  I attempt it, try to get better and move on.  Days are too short to spend wallowing in any self-pity or self-deprecating shit.  I have decided to kick the habit of putting myself down, and get in the habit of lifting myself up.

We all have those days where shit happens and whatever we seem to do, it just invariably goes wrong.  We try to avoid running out of gas, but life gets in the way and we forget.  We try to get to that deadline, but so many people needed us to do a million other things so that deadline came and went like yesterday’s lunch.  Did we forget to eat that, too?

As women, we tend to think about everybody else instead of us.  We put a million others and their needs in front of our own.  It’s instinct.  We are nurturers and we just put ourselves into the line of fire every fucking time.  Ugh.  We can’t help it.  That’s how awesome we are.

Phoebe and Rachel running

It’s all about attitude…

Social media is a cesspool of body-shaming, name-calling anti-everything kind of shit-show that just needs a little bit of uplifting positivity now and then.  We tend to take some things to heart, but we have to learn to ignore the bad and dwell on the good.   When I see my FB feed and its inundated with negative crap about Trump and Hillary, or the latest celebrity divorce or how we NEED to be something other than who or what we are, I tend to retaliate with cute animal baby pics.  It’s my go-to kind of cuteness that overrides any possible negative put-down one can throw.  How can anybody hate a cute animal baby?!

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There are ways to combat the ugly negatives and I suggest banning together and lifting each other up.  Be a cheerleader.  Be a motivator of wonderfulness…so awesome in the positive, that you repel the dark side and naturally attract light to you like moths to a flame, like metal to a magnet, like fingerprints to every damned wall in my house.  (Ugh)

We get beaten down enough.  Let’s lift each other up.  Smile and be positive.  Tell somebody she is awesome today…you may make someone’s day, week or year.  You don’t know everybody’s story.  Give them a smile and something to keep in their mind for the day, so when somebody tries to tear them down, they can go back to that smile or that positive remark and dwell on that for a while.  It helps.  Believe me.  Even the smallest of remarks can make a difference.  One night, I was returning to my house after a bit o’wine with friends. A neighbour happened to spot me on my way and commented on my new car.  I said I was now ‘cool’.  He said ‘You’ve always been cool.  Don’t sell yourself short’.  THAT was a small itty bitty remark that I keep.  It made me smile.  I also thought maybe he was a bit drunk, but take a compliment when one comes along!  AND, it was valuable advice.  Too many of us ‘sell ourselves short’.  Stop that.  Somebody around the corner might just think you’re ‘cool’, too.

No matter how off the cuff a remark is, it can be a big do-over for somebody.

Take care, stay positive and say something nice, will ‘ya?

woman worker

 

Fallness IS a Word, I Just Made it Up. Also, My Back Hurts.

Posted in Misguided Musings by

My back is giving me grief today.  Day three of pain.  It started out on Saturday evening and by Sunday night, I was walking like a Zombie looking for his next brain.  Ugh.  I made it to work, but exercising has taken a back seat to attempts at finding a comfy spot.  Sitting is difficult and trying to get in any kind of horizontal position is downright impossible.  I get sympathy looks and offers for pillows.  I also get the dog jumping at me incessantly and the ‘well, since you’re up…’ from kids.  MOM CAN’T SIT DOWN SO LET’S GET HER TO GET EVERYTHING FOR US WHILE SHE’S STILL ABLE TO WALK.  Nice.

Fun Fact: I can sleep upright.  Also, getting your birth units to assist in donning footwear is embarrassing (apparently, more for them) and filled with exclamations of ‘ewww’ and ‘ugh.  I can’t WAIT until you’re OLD.’   Don’t worry about it, kid I’ll just wear my slippers all of the time.  Even out in public.  I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL I’M OLD EITHER  AND I MAKE YOU TAKE ME SHOPPING AND OUT TO RESTAURANTS AND PLACES YOU DON’T WANT TO GO.  IN MY SLIPPERS.  AND JUST FOR FUN I’LL WEAR MY SWEATPANTS, TOO.

So there.

I have a few posts just waiting for the right time to hit the blog, but I seem to have abandoned them for the ‘right time’….what?   Not sure when that will be.  One is very positive and pleading with humanity to get a grip and try to be nice and let’s all just get along…also, I may have been hopped up on muscle relaxants and pain pills at the time.   The other is about my trip to get a tattoo.  It’s a fun-filled romp into ‘WTF I’m Fifty’.  AND ‘NO MUSCLE RELAXANTS IN THAT BIT O’PAIN ALL IN THE NAME OF ART’.  Sure to make one shake her head in ‘WTF is wrong with her’…like I haven’t heard THAT one before.  No judging.

There’s also a great character sketch about a shrunken pirate head.

I know.  NOW, you can’t wait for that one.

Hope you are all enjoying the fallness of the season and are able to tie your shoes unassisted.

It’s the little things, people.

 

fall leaves